


Invidia

by minhyukwithagun (deadlylampshades)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Demons, Blood and Violence, Demon Deals, Gratuitous Cameo Appearances, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-01-20 16:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21284744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlylampshades/pseuds/minhyukwithagun
Summary: This cycle will continue and continue until one betrays the other. This is because yes, demons are evil, but so are the people who try to make deals with them.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 36
Kudos: 191
Collections: JUKEBOX ROUND 3: SEVENTEEN X HOZIER





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovefoolthatsme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefoolthatsme/gifts).

> Song: [Arsonist's Lullabye - Hozier ](https://open.spotify.com/track/7lpmIGFw7Kc9qIdq4cGs34?si=JE2i1jdiRWSjHZcZ27EN_w)
> 
> _don't you ever tame your demons_  
_but always keep them on a leash._
> 
> This is a prequel of sorts to a larger body of work I have planned, but upon contracting side pairing disease, I had no choice but to write the entirety of this first. I do advise that this story is consistently rather dark, and while violence is occasional, it is worth noting. Furthermore, I do want to state that the demon contracts that exist in this universe are entirely consensual. I hope you enjoy reading some circus demons.
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KYQGQJ2v3WlkqJrXvokTl?si=SincJbASRju7WmqYs9qrPA)

“Does your demon do tricks?”

“Ask him for yourself,” Wonwoo smiles. His voice takes on a gentle quality talking to the child, and he clicks his fingers, gesturing Jeonghan nearer. A furtive glance is exchanged, and Jeonghan understands the sensitivity required from this interaction.

He kneels down, commits to eye level with the child. It’s a girl, but Jeonghan wouldn’t attempt to guess the age, not well-equipped enough with the necessary knowledge to make that conjecture. Humans do have such variability when it comes to the way years show themselves. 

“Can you do tricks?” she repeats, softer this time. She seems enraptured by the swaying of his blonde hair in the breeze.

“I can,” Jeonghan replies. “Can I ask you a question now?”

Her dress has polka dots, and her hair is neatly braided. She plays with one of them now as she nods her agreement. Jeonghan wonders what he’d look like with a hairstyle like that. He’d have to grow it out first, he supposes.

“Where are your parents?” he asks.

She points vaguely to one of the tents in the distance. The sound of raucous applause surrounds it. Jeonghan sneaks a look with Wonwoo. “Well, how about I show you something special and then you go with my friend and find them?”

The child seems agreeable enough, which is a blessing. Jeonghan isn’t sure what he’d do if she started crying. His talents aren’t necessarily suitable for younger audiences, but he improvises. Raises his right hand, flexes his fingers. She’s fascinated by the black designs encircling his skin, the swirls that cross and cross around, consuming themselves, more permanent than a tattoo.

“That’s really cool!” she reaches out and pulls his hand closer. Her touch is soft. Jeonghan can feel her soul pulse through.

“It glows too,” Jeonghan tells her. He tilts his head to the side, a silent request for permission, and Wonwoo nods, crossing his arms together, obscuring his own hands. The pull of their connection intensifies, intangible but inescapable and the markings begin to pulsate in a dark black hue. The girl drops her grip, gasps.

“Does it hurt?”

The brand? Never. Not unless Wonwoo wants it to hurt.

“Not at all,” Jeonghan replies, curls his arm in the air, lets the wisps of smoke curl around his fingers. “Think of it as like a friendship bracelet.”

“Who’s your friend?”

They look up at Wonwoo at the same time. He hesitates, unwilling to reveal his own vulnerability — but seems to make his decision and nods. He peels off the velvet glove from his hand, and the girl gasps upon seeing the exact reflection of Jeonghan’s mark printed on the skin.

“That’s my friend,” Jeonghan says, mildly amused. Wonwoo extinguishes the glow surrounding their mark and smiles. Wide and genuine. 

Her face face wide with wonder. It’s so adorable, Jeonghan can’t help but grin. Even Wonwoo, in contrast to his usual uncrackable demeanour allows himself to enjoy this.

“Oh, someone’s watching,” Wonwoo comments.

“Who?” Jeonghan replies.

“Over there,” he gestures to a man in the distance. With him is a single suitcase, and he looks very much out of place surrounded in the center of activity, of people wearing glitter and gold where he is dressed in threadbare denim. “He’s been watching us the whole time.”

“Hope he’s paid for a ticket, at least,” Jeonghan replies.

But that doesn’t seem to be the case, not with the way his eyes show clear enrapturement with the bustling around him, not with the way his grip tightens on his suitcase. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen him before,”

“Must be new,” Wonwoo surmises. He turns his attention back to the girl. “You should get going now, I’ll walk with you” he says, his voice kind. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the circus.”

Before she leaves, she looks back at Jeonghan again. Almost as if she wants to say something, but thinks better of it. He waves bye to her and she smiles again.

They have a show soon, and Jeonghan really should get back to their tent and get ready — but he can’t stop himself staring, and starts to walk closer. Figures that if Wonwoo objects to the detour he can force him back through willpower alone. There’s something compelling that draws him nearer, the intrigue of a new arrival. It’s been so long, after all, the circus doesn’t often recruit new acts. Jeonghan’s only here because Wonwoo’s former companion met an unfortunate end — it’s not like he was presented this job on his own merit. 

A boy with a gaze like ornate temples built to serve old gods looks at him.

Not everyone gets to see their own demise before it happens. Jeonghan did. If Jeonghan had known when he arrived back on Earth — limbs awkward, not used to the gravity that weighs down on him in this realm, tongue getting accustomed to the way words worked here — he would have done more.

He wouldn’t have run, no, but he would have savoured it more, because there’s beauty in destruction, and there’ll never been a destruction more beautiful than his own. That’s a promise.

The boy’s hand tightens on his suitcase.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but I’m new here. I was wondering if you could show me where the Ringmaster is,” the boy had said, in a voice so charming. “I’m Joshua.”

The boy was young. The boy had dark eyes. The boy was beautiful. And the boy looked at Jeonghan like he could see behind those false irises, like he could see the monster trapped inside, that he could see each and every soul he devoured in the past millennia. And he saw all that, and didn’t even look surprised.

“Jeonghan,” he says.

Joshua’s brow furrows. “What are you?”

And Jeonghan smiles, sort of vacantly, because he can’t see the future, clairvoyance was never part of his skillset but he doesn’t need that ability to sense there’s something here, a sheer sense of doom that permeates through the veins he fabricated and fashioned himself, running up and down. Demons don’t die. Demons don’t die if they stay where they belong, in Dis, in their realm where the sky is grey, the cliffs are greyer and the words they speak are indecipherable. But in the human realm, they can. They can turn to dust, they can burn alive, they can die. Jeonghan begins to realize the significance of his own mortality, when it’s as bright and clear as the eyes of the boy in front of him.

Jeonghan smiles, and says: “I’m just part of the act.”

ψ

“Jump,” Wonwoo demands. His voice is a practised roar on stage, enticing even. Jeonghan flutters his eyelashes, launches himself into the air, and lands as perfectly. He can’t see very well from the stage lights. Doesn’t need to. Applause is deafening.

The final scene in this act is a show of deference of a demon to the tamer. Wonwoo steps to the platform, holds out his hand, all the while shouting so loud it starts to reverberate. The crowd absorbs the energy, screams, and when Jeonghan kneels down, kisses the hand with the same brand mark he has, the tent seems to shake.

There’s always electricity in the air on nights like these, and Jeonghan shuffles off stage in a haze. He’s feasted, stolen his meal and he’s absolutely satiated. Leans against the side of the tent, staring outside, endlessly thankful to look up at stars instead of the grey sky. It’ll be difficult to return to Dis when all of this is over — he’s becoming more sentimental this time around, he thinks.

“You’re a demon,” Joshua tells him.

“I am,” Jeonghan agrees. He stands next to him, dwarfed in a shawl he’s wrapped around himself. The wind blows strongly, Jeonghan realizes now, running far too hot from the stage to realize. “I see you’ve made yourself a welcome addition here.”

“You’re… you’re an actual demon. You’re not faking it,” Joshua’s voice is tinged with awe. His features are catlike, thin eyebrows raised, eyes almost sparkling. “You’re real.”

“What convinced you?” Jeonghan says, almost amused. “Was it all my fancy tricks?”

Joshua hesitates. He digs into the ground with the point of his shoe. “Do you know what I am?”

“I don’t,” Jeonghan says. “Will you tell me?” Certainly he must possess some skill to have been recruited into a circus as elite as this one. Unique as well. The Ringmaster values loyalty, and would not easily introduce a new member into his misshapen family.

“I can read minds.” Joshua’s voice shakes. Must be from the cold.

“Humans can’t do that.” The instantaneous fact leaves Jeonghan’s mouth before he can stop it. _Demons _can barely do that, and only with each other. Still, tries to keep his doubt to himself.

“I can.” He pulls the shawl tighter. “Do you know what my interview with the Ringmaster was like? He sat me down, and I told him everything that happened to him in the last year.”

Defensive, Jeonghan notes.

“Well, you must be special then,” Jeonghan states.

“Yes,” Joshua replies. “Always have been.”

Their conversation turns to gentler topics, commenting on the audience of the night, the weather, the blossoming romance between the gymnasts that live next to him. Joshua is new, and has much to catch up to in a tightly-knit environment like this — and yet, Joshua _knows _things already. He can’t recognize Chan when he walks past them, but upon being pointed out, effortlessly lets it slip that he’s been expanding his cast of puppets, a fact Jeonghan had only learnt a day before from Wonwoo.

It’s curious.

There’s no doubt that Joshua is human, but the way he holds his head up, the absolute confidence in his own telepathic abilities he wields — Jeonghan wonders what kind of demon he would have been.

ψ

“I was thinking about visiting the telepath,” Wonwoo says.

Jeonghan is in his tent. They share one but Wonwoo promises that if their act continues to improve, they’ll be given separate ones soon. It doesn’t really affect Jeonghan. He has no need for sleep, nor for physical space. He could be propped in a broom closet and it would affect him the same. It was more for Wonwoo’s own sensibilities that Jeonghan found it necessary to periodically leave the tent, wander around the circus grounds, giving him some privacy. Kind of ridiculous, really, he’s already seen Wonwoo stripped down to skin. That had been an interesting experience.

It was not arousing, because while Jeonghan’s human body is certainly capable of such sensations, he has no attraction to Wonwoo beyond that initial spark in Dis that drew him closer, when he became enraptured by the nature of his mind. Wonwoo’s body was interesting in a different way, in that his skin was etched with markings, his flesh crossed and patterned with a hundred runes, the names of which Jeonghan could only begin to guess.

Jeonghan eyes one of those runes now, the shape on the curl of his bicep. He doesn’t often wear shirts with short sleeves, but the summer sun has made a deviant out of him.

“What do you want with the telepath?” Jeonghan replies, cautiously. “I thought you wouldn’t like him reading your thoughts.”

“I’m curious. He’s either a fraud, in which case I’m interested to see how adept he is at his craft.” Wonwoo adjusts his glasses. “Or he’s telling the truth, and he actually can read minds, in which case I’d be happy to have that confirmation. I’d know to watch myself around him.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Jeonghan says.

He doesn’t try to hide how unconvinced he sounds. “How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

There’s a snort. “Jeonghan, that doesn’t seem like some particularly intense interrogation on your part.” Wonwoo gazes around the tent, throws on one of his jackets, unwilling to step out in what he considers to be bare attire. “Come. He’s supposed to be able to tell the future. Surely, you’re interested in what’s in store for us?”

Much of the same, Jeonghan would imagine. He’s got a good thing going on here. Wonwoo is an intelligent man, the circus is a place of cavernous energy, and Jeonghan has never been more admired than he is here. He wears the brand on his hand like it’s jewels. Why would he ever want to leave?

“You can go. I would rather not,” Jeonghan says. Prickling sensations echo up and down the skin of his neck at the thought of Joshua and his dark eyes.

“Why not?” Wonwoo asks, blinking in confusion. “We’re a team. We have to go together.”

“Is that an order?”

The hesitation suggests that, yes, it is an order. Wonwoo is just choosing not to exert his power in this moment. Which is fine. It’s good, really, Jeonghan’s had masters that give him free rein. It’s a pointless waste of an existence. “I won’t force you, but I don’t see a reason as to why you don’t want to come with. There’s nothing else to do. Our next act isn’t till tomorrow’s matinee.”

Weighs up the options in his mind. Jeonghan swallows. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Wonwoo flinches the moment he’s in the sunlight, so accustomed to shadows is he. “Do you not like him? The telepath?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan says. “I just don’t think I should spend too much time with him.”

There’s a decisive moment where it seems very much like Wonwoo is trying not to laugh. “Are you _scared _of him?”

“I’m a demon,” Jeonghan says, forcing confidence. “Of course not.”

He always feels strange when he lies to Wonwoo.

ψ

He’s committed himself to the aesthetic. Stars made of coloured paper hang from the ceiling of a tent the colour of royal purple. Inside feels like stepping into another world, one of mysticism, one far out of touch with this one. Incense burns, overpowering even, the smell of patchouli and spearmint. In the center of the tent is a circular table with a crystal ball in the center. There are three chairs: two on one side, one on the other.

“Demon tamer, is that you?” a voice calls.

“It is,” Wonwoo replies, voice vivid with interest as he pours over every inch of the telepath’s tent. “Is this a good time?”

It’s so fundamentally different from their own. Where theirs was for rest and relaxation, intended to quiet down overstimulated minds from a stage performance, this _is _Joshua’s career. Joshua has a show once a week, just a quiet act in one of the side tents, but he earns his keep through the private fortune telling he conducts from here. Jeonghan wonders if the crystal ball is mere glass. 

“Of course it is. I’m glad you accepted my invite! Some of the other acts still are a little scared of me.” His laugh sounds like bells. “I’ll be right out.”

Wonwoo settles into the chair, and his posture may make it seem as if he’s relaxed but Jeonghan can see the glint in his eye. He’s analyzing every inch of this tent, memorizing the placement of the chest in the corner to the tarot cards stacked haphazardly on the shelf next to the entrance.

“I saw Renjun and Jaemin cutting those stars,” Wonwoo mumbles under his breath. “I wondered why. Makes sense now. Do you think he bribed them with candy? They never help me with anything..”

“That’s because they don’t like you.” Jeonghan isn’t really thinking, not at all interested in the current conversation, occupied with the unnamed emotion rushing in his head. What he feels isn’t quite fear. But he does wish he was outside, or anywhere else, because there’s something disconcerting about how close these walls are.

“Jeonghan, sit down. You look like you’re ready to bolt at the first sign of the man,” Wonwoo says with mild amusement. “You’re usually much more excited to make new friends.”

There’s truth there.

Anxiety spikes at the back of Jeonghan’s neck. It’s becoming common whenever in proximity to Joshua. At the first sight, it becomes worse.

He’s not in his stage outfit, and consequently, looks far less intimidating. What replaced kohl-rimmed eyes and blazers that sparkle, is a simple shirt, loose on him. The only jewellery that remains is one cradled in the top of his earlobe. He doesn’t look like he belongs in a circus, but he never did, really.

“Welcome!” Joshua says, smiling broadly. “I know I’m new here but I’m really excited to get to know you all.”

“It’s difficult when you first arrive, but the people here are quite accepting. They’ve become so fond of Jeonghan in such short time, after all,” Wonwoo says, laying a gentle hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder, as if sensing the nerves. Perhaps he is. The physical contact of their contract mark relaxes Jeonghan, and he attempts to maintain neutrality.

“I am certain you’re busy,” Joshua says. He reaches under the tablecloth, pulls out a velvet drawstring bag. “So I’ll not do the usual patter with you, if that’s alright?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t, truthfully, I’m not really much of a believer in all this fortune telling stuff myself,” Wonwoo replies. “But I can’t deny my curiosity.”

Joshua doesn’t pretend to be surprised. “Most of my clients aren’t. It’ll be fun, I’m certain, if nothing else. I’ll do a tarot reading for you. Are there any concerns that press upon you at present?”

“You’re supposed to be able to tell the future, right? Go for it,” Wonwoo says, kneeling back in his chair.

If there was a man who made his own destiny, it would be Wonwoo. Knowing him, it would not be surprising if he goes against what Joshua predicts, just out of his own stubborn drive. Joshua nods, shuffles the deck, and lays out the first card.

“Lovers,” Joshua answers. There’s a distinct pause, wherein he gazes rather deliberately at Wonwoo — and then at Jeonghan.

Wonwoo is barely able to control his laughter when he says: “I don’t fuck my demons.”

Joshua reddens. It’s rather adorable, actually. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

“Ah, but I think you were,” Wonwoo replies. “And allow me to set the record straight that I’m not.” He’s smiling so wide.

“That’s…” Joshua inhales. Struggles to regain himself. “Well, there’s more to the card than that. It symbolizes love, yes, but also commitment. Contracts.”

Jeonghan perks up, eyes wide. “That sounds interesting. What kind of contracts?”

“Normal ones? Are there other kinds?” Joshua replies, eyebrow raised in question.

Of course there are, ones that involve blood and bone and ash. Ones that burn black ink into his hand, and then into his soul. Wonwoo unconsciously covers his left hand with his right, obscuring the mark — even as he wears gloves.

“Why’s the card upside down?” Jeonghan remarks, leaning over the table. Joshua looks so thoroughly annoyed, Jeonghan decides to make a mental note to always ask him unnecessary questions.

“I was getting to that,” Joshua snaps, and then exhales. Eases back into that porcelain composure he’s cultivated. “The card is reversed. It means the energies flow in the opposite direction.”

“The energies, yes,” Wonwoo says, doing a poor job of sounding anything other than amused. “Sounds about right.”

If Joshua finds Wonwoo’s disbelief irritating, he says nothing of it.

“I’ll draw the next card,” Joshua continues, “if you don’t have any more questions.”

Jeonghan has questions, but Wonwoo seems interested enough in what happens next. He signals for Joshua to continue and he draws the next card, lays it on the table.

“King of Pentacles.” He lays the card down. Jeonghan saw a tablecloth like this in the Byzantine Empire once. He wonders if it’s the same.

Wonwoo leans over the table, gazes at the card. “Is that me? Am I the King?”

“Possibly. This is a steady King, a wise King, one that strives for success and has found it as well. I see in your future even further opulence.”

He almost lets it pass by without comment — and then Wonwoo’s eyes narrow. “_Further_?”

“Did I offend?” Joshua says.

“It’s hardly true,” Wonwoo says, unable to keep the indignation from his voice. Certainly, they are not penniless, but Jeonghan is not yet a main attraction, and consequently, neither is Wonwoo.

“I didn’t mean it in any way besides noticing that you keep Jeonghan in fine jewellery.”

Jeonghan gazes down at his own neck, enshrined in a necklace of silver, a pendant of a feather at the end. “Gifts.” When Wonwoo doesn’t elaborate further, Jeonghan supposes he was meant to continue. “I receive a lot of gifts from the audience. Typically pieces like these.”

“Oh,” Joshua says. Jeonghan wonders why he seems so discontent with that answer.

“He has many admirers,” Wonwoo finally amends. “Finances not as much. But sure, I’ll be rich, that sounds nice.”

Joshua’s eyebrows furrow but he draws the final card. A woman with her hand around the jaw of her lion. Absolute serenity in her expression.

“Strength,” Joshua says. “The kind that builds inside of you, the kind that you’ve bestowed on yourself through willpower alone. It tells me you can overcome whatever obstacle comes your way.”

That much could be ascertained from merely looking at Wonwoo. He’s indestructible.

“That’s good to know,” Wonwoo replies, leans back in his chair like he’s satisfied at the meal he’s been presented with. “Thank you Joshua, you’re certainly convincing if nothing else.”

Joshua smiles, placid and non-threatening. Jeonghan is reminded of something Seunghyub told him once, that the most beautiful flowers are poisonous too. That was of course, referencing Jeonghan himself, and then Jeonghan had laughed like it was a joke — even if he was right, and died at his demon’s hands a month later.

“I’m not hardly as impressive as your act, I’m sure but I make do with the talents I have,” Joshua says. False modesty is not found on Joshua, he’s realistic about the limitations of his own skillset.

“Are you particularly busy with clients?” Wonwoo asks.

“Slightly. Getting more. I read their future, tell them about their lost lovers, things like that.”

“And you can actually read thoughts?”

Joshua blinks. “It would be quite a bad lie, wouldn’t it? Quite easily proved wrong.”

That’s not an answer. Jeonghan observes the way Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m just curious. Understandably, of course. I thought we’d have some common ground. We both are individuals that transcend the conventional boundaries of humanity.”

“We do,” Joshua beams. “You, of course, studied relentlessly for years on the topic of demon and demon-summoning, dedicated your life to the pursuit.” He picks the information out of his mind like dust off his shoulder. “Must have been difficult. You had to sacrifice a lot.”

Wonwoo replicates his smile. His teeth are grit together. “That sounds like a fairly accurate summary, yes. Aren’t you just a _marvel_?” 

If they were demons, now would be the time where the one claws out the other’s life essence through their throat. But they are not, and they continue to maintain a veil of pleasantry.

Joshua gazes at Jeonghan. It’s only for a moment and then he turns his attention back to Wonwoo — but it seems to burn. With tender hands, Joshua slots the tarot cards back into the deck, something like a hum under his breath.

“I think the difference between you and I, Wonwoo,” Joshua says, “You had to learn to be great. I was born with it.”

ψ 

"What does the mark on your hand mean?" Joshua asks.

The brand is inky black, geometric, and most importantly, easily identifiable. Unique. Placement is a choice as well, Jeonghan’s had brands hidden all over his body at one time or another — Wonwoo is the first one who specifically requested it to be on his hand. Open. Visible. All-seeing. “Surely you can tell just from my thoughts,” Jeonghan replies. "It's who I belong to.”

“Tell me,” Joshua insists. Jeonghan doesn't often explain the brand, it's a weakness after all. But Joshua seems genuinely interested, eyes sparkling. 

"The Demon Tamer?"

It's cute when someone calls Wonwoo "the Demon Tamer", as if he doesn't wear fluffy slippers and round glasses and gets grumpy when they serve fish for dinner. "The one and the same."

Their conversation had started with Jeonghan’s search for stage make-up, distressingly low in his own stocks. And he supposes he could have asked anyone else, his tent is right next to Luda’s and she masks herself and Seola up as a skull nearly every night and yet, Jeonghan still asks Joshua instead. It feels too easy to fall into conversation with him, Jeonghan can’t help but be enraptured by his conversation.

"I didn't actually think a demon could belong to anyone," Joshua says. "Can I see?"

It's a strange request. Jeonghan lifts his hand closer, but that's not enough. Joshua holds it in his own, fingers running over the dark marks, tracing the shape.

"It's not in the way you humans understand it," Jeonghan says, keeping his breath restrained. "It's like an agreement. Like a promise."

"A promise?" Joshua looks up. Doesn't stop touching Jeonghan's hand.

"Yes. They take care of us. We take care of them. They don't hurt us, we don't hurt them."

"But you follow his instructions. You have to do what he tells you."

It's impossible to explain the complex nature of this relationship to someone who clearly doesn't understand. Jeonghan still tries. "But I_ choose_ to. I always had a choice."

"That doesn't seem like freedom."

"And you've tasted freedom? You, who works for pennies in a circus, swindling men richer than you'll ever be? This is freedom?" Jeonghan replies, tilting his head to the side. "I've been to lands the names of which you'll never know, and I've stood at the bottom of the ocean. I'm more free than you'll ever be, even if I had a brand on every inch of skin."

Joshua drops his hand like it's been scalded. "You're bold."

"I am,” Jeonghan says unapologetically. “I've not been raised in the same way you have. I don't have your sensibilities."

Joshua seems offended, but not enough to walk away. "And _how _were you made?"

“I am the manifestation of sin. But as for the body? Clay," he responds. Thinks for a moment. "I have wings in Dis. I have eyes like coal. Talons, too. Sadly, here I am deprived of such amenities. I have to make do with what I can.”

Joshua stares at him for a moment. Analyzing. “You look like this all the time?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vanity is a sin Jeonghan doesn’t get to engage in Dis, and he’s been enjoying this part of human life, spending hours on his hair, on his face, striving for the beauty to put humans to shame. It was like the price of living in this world, that he would look the part.

“It’s just,” Joshua gestures to Jeonghan, eyes flittering from the top of his head to his feet and back up, as if trying to memorize him. He looks enraptured. “You don’t look like how I thought a demon would.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Jeonghan lets the compliment wash over him.

Jeonghan makes a concerted effort not to think about Joshua too deeply. He first tried not to think about him at all, to occupy his thoughts with everything and anything else. He rekindles friendships that have long gone dormant, sits with Luda as she applies her makeup, smiling as she complains that her girlfriend keeps putting the lipstick on a shelf she can’t reach. He makes an effort to talk to Wonwoo as well, about more than just the act, enquires about his health and Wonwoo seems highly suspicious of this activity and Jeonghan resolves not to ask him again. It’s an understandable concern, really, Jeonghan can’t imagine he’d tell the only individual with the capability of killing him if he was feeling poorly either.

But all of this had no true effect, because Jeonghan could be on stage, could be in the tent, could be coiling one of Jun’s snakes around his wrist or could be in the wings, watching the circus continue around him and he still thinks of Joshua. He’s made a permanent residency in Jeonghan’s mind and there’s little he can do to stop this. The damage has already been done.

So Jeonghan tries not to think about Joshua too deeply, about all that he does not know about this enigmatic telepath, and instead focuses on what he does, on those simpler things. Like how dark and shiny his eyes are, or the soft tenor of his voice. Those are easier to think about. Sometimes he does wonder why Joshua ever bothers to talk to him to begin with. He doesn’t question that a lot either.

ψ

Jeonghan noticed the remnants of it certainly, there’s a limited amount of feasible explanations as to why there is a massive crater in the ground. He skirted around it most times, and it was located a distance from the main tents — it was rare anyone needed to walk past it. Seems difficult to get out of as well, the pit is _high_, and without any assistance, even the most skilled acrobat could find it a challenge.

Jeonghan does not find it a challenge. He steps forward like it’s an unusually steep staircase, feels the shock absorb in his feet and continues walking forward, like it’s nothing at all. It _is_ nothing.

He can’t deny his curiosity at exactly _why _an unoccupied space takes so much of the circus grounds.

Once, Jeonghan tested the limitations of his body. His master, an actress with a thick row of pearls and a sparkly smile, told him to get lost for the night, she was busy networking with an upcoming playwright. So he jumped off a building, shook the dust off his shirt, and tried it again.

And then again.

_And then again_. 

He’s not immortal, not quite, but it’s nice to pretend he is sometimes. 

Within the confines of the pit, Jeonghan is better able to assess it. It’s large, certainly, but slopes smaller, with a larger rim. Evidence of dismantled mechanisms remain, most interesting of which appears to be a large door, bolted shut. Over the period of inactivity, the area has been used as a dumping ground, and Jeonghan navigates around a broken tent frame as he nears towards the door.

There might have been some kind of structure here, bathrooms, or a special stage but it seems strange to have broken it down then. The door is guarded by a steel gate, rusted with disuse. Jeonghan almost abandons it then without further observation — but he hears a peculiar humming noise and feels compelled to go nearer. He keeps his hand on the gate — surprised when it moves without even an attempt.

The door is what perplexes him, really can’t think of a single reason as to why this seemingly random pit would need an extra room. Jeonghan doesn’t even have a chance to question it deeper before the door swings open.

“What are you doing here?!” Soonyoung squeaks, eyes wide. He slams the door shut behind him, gaze darting around to survey the area.

It _is _Soonyoung, Jeonghan realizes, despite the limited exposure he’s had to the Ringmaster. The red velvet of his suit shines pleasantly in the morning sun. As the shock passes, he sets his face into the performance smile he’s mastered. “Did you fall in?”

“No,” Jeonghan answers, brows knitting together in confusion. “Do people often fall in?”

“Well, it’s a more reasonable explanation than coming in here and not being able to get out,” Soonyoung replies, His blonde hair has traces of glitter in it. Jeonghan thought he only did that for shows, but he must prefer to always be glimmering.

“I was curious,” Jeonghan says, deciding on honesty. It’s not like he’d get punished personally if he wasn’t allowed — it would be Wonwoo that will receive that. “Wondered what all this empty space was for.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung says, beaming. “We used to have a lion pit.”

“A lion pit.” He echoes the words, almost in disbelief.

“You know what they are, right?” Soonyoung gestures to the door behind him. “We’d keep them in their enclosure, and let them out for performances. Crowd would be seated around. We used to have a lion tamer, as well, it used to be very exciting. One of our biggest attractions!”

Jeonghan gazes at the remnants of the pit: rubble, dismantled tent frames, tattered ticket stubs and old newspapers. It seems unfathomable that beasts like _lions_ could have actually resided here. His eyes flicker back to Soonyoung, grinning in that particular way that only he does.

“What happened?” Jeonghan asks.

“My last husband got eaten by lions,” Soonyoung pouts.

Rendered absolutely speechless, Jeonghan can only stare at Soonyoung.

“No need for sympathies, don’t worry, I’m happily remarried as you know,” Soonyoung flashes the ring. “But it was very difficult for the circus, you know we had such bad publicity. No more wild animals.”

It’s as if Jeonghan expects to see the bones of Soonyoung’s former lover scattered among the debris, claw marks on the sand walls, hear his scream still ring out. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“I said no sympathies! I don’t have any regrets at all, besides, I was never really a fan of lions anyway. Prefer tigers, you know, but I couldn’t exactly buy a bunch of tigers. Where would I even get that? The grocery store?” He waits for Jeonghan to laugh, who does when it becomes clear the conversation will not progress until he does.

The Ringmaster is a perplexing man. Jeonghan has never seen much of him, their acts never overlap, and Jeonghan never bothers to watch the others. Yet Soonyoung does not seem like anyone else he’s met here, he’s far more _interesting_.

“It’s a storage room now,” Soonyoung says, waves his hand. He steps nearer to Jeonghan. “The stuff we don’t often need, you know. It’s not really easy to come down here, after all.” He runs a hand over Jeonghan’s jaw, tracing the bone. Not in any sort of affectionate way, rather in the manner of inspecting a beast’s teeth. “Why can’t I remember your name?”

“We haven’t met often,” Jeonghan replies, keeps his head still. “I’m Wonwoo’s act.”

“Not ‘_I am part of’_, no, you said you ‘_are’ _his act,” Soonyoung observes, lips curving up in a smile. His hand moves down to Jeonghan’s shoulders, brushes stray sand off the shirt. “You must be that demon of his, aren’t you?”

Jeonghan blinks, slowly. His eyes are a shade of warm hazel and there’s nothing to be alarmed about in the slightest. “I am.”

Soonyoung walks forward, easily side-stepping the debris. He motions for Jeonghan to follow. “I’ve seen you on stage once or twice. You’re quite the acrobat, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you know, us demons need to be nimble to fit through the windows of virginal maidens and all that,” Jeonghan waves his hand.

Soonyoung laughs loud enough for it to echo in the pit, bending over. “I like you,” he wheezes, “You’re funny. I wish I was that witty.”

It hits him so suddenly, the envy, that Jeonghan’s breath comes out stuttered. His eyes close for a fraction, absorbing the power as refreshing as a morning breeze. Shoots through his veins and through his blood and through his bone. Feels _good_. Jeonghan had forgotten the power he can possess just from an individual.

“Thank you, Ringleader,” Jeonghan replies, runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m actually glad we’ve gotten this opportunity to chat, I used to be so _personal _with my performers, and now it feels like I barely recognize half the people here!” Soonyoung shakes his head, laughing to himself. “You know, you’re incredibly beautiful as well. If Wonwoo wasn’t so protective over you, I’d have you as one of the faces of our circus.”

“You would?”

Jeonghan would like that. He’s seen the posters of Siyeon, those hand drawn sketches of her with hair like a black curtain, knife between her teeth. Advertising, right, that’s what it’s all about. Jeonghan thinks he could do that. He doesn’t use knives or anything, but he knows how pretty he looks with leather wrapped around his neck, bedazzled with glitter.

“Mm,” Soonyoung replies. “But I know better. Wonwoo would never go for it. Think he’s worried someone might steal you.”

“Is there a history of kidnapping at the circus?” Jeonghan jokes. Smile slips off his face when Soonyoung doesn’t return it.

“It’s a circus,” Soonyoung replies. “As someone who lives in one, I’m certain you’ve seen it’s not quite as glamorous as you thought.”

He’s assuming Jeonghan has had some preexisting experience to compare the circus too, and no, he hasn’t. This is his first time manifesting in decades. He’s still comprehending the changes in fashion, he’s hardly got time to raise eyebrows at the standard of living conditions.

“Do you need help getting out?” Soonyoung asks, gazing at the outer rim of the pit. “It’s a good thing I’m here, or you’d be stuck for ages!”

“I can get out myself,” Jeonghan says, smiling placidly. He doesn’t show off as much as he can, scales up the wall with ease, fingers leaving dents in the compacted sand. He beams down at Soonyoung.

Jeonghan gets the feeling Soonyoung wasn’t showing off either, it’s just natural for him to move his body like that. He propels himself off a crate, holds onto the edge of the pit and hoists himself up. Doesn’t even look tired.

“You must be an acrobat like me,” he decides.

“I’m a bit of everything.”

Soonyoung’s eyes curve into crescents. “I should get going, I have to meet with a client. But it was lovely getting to know you a bit better, Jeonghan.” He reaches forward, pinches his cheek. “Don’t go climbing in the pit again though, wouldn’t want you to get stuck.”

Jeonghan is not often used to being patronized. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Soonyoung regards Jeonghan with interest. “Speak to me truthfully, Jeonghan. Are you actually a demon?”

“You think I’m not?” Jeonghan blinks.

“A fair amount don’t. I’m considering it. I’m asking you to cast away all the glitter and showmanship and tell me straight. Are you a demon?”

He could show him. He could conjure fire in the palm of his hand, he could swallow him whole, he could do so many _demonic _things. Or he could just blink, and let the blacks of his eyes emerge and there’d be nothing human about that. But Jeonghan sees no need to do that, feels no obligation to perform.

“I am,” he says simply.

Soonyoung nods, thoughtful. “Huh. Good to know, I’ll keep that in mind.” He hesitates. “You know, if you’re a demon I won’t feel bad telling you this.”

It is not often that someone decides to find confession in Jeonghan’s temple. “Yes?”

Soonyoung’s eyes drift to the lion pit. “I pushed him in.”

ψ

It’s never quite the same, their performance. It isn’t just a job, isn’t just a rehearsed set of movements, it’s a representation of what they are and what their connection is, the culmination of an unholy union of blood and ash. Routines are put in place, painstakingly practiced but they may as well just be using the time to point out constellations in the sky: they mean nothing. What happens on stage is something different altogether, what happens on stage is _different_.

It’s a story, sometimes. Wonwoo’s voice is husky, maintaining a meticulous rhythm as he waves a story through the audience. Sometimes it’s the truth, that Wonwoo snuck under a cloak of volcanic dust to the City of Dis and made a deal with a demon that had searing coals for eyes. Other times, it’s far more fanciful, taking excessive liberties with facts, claiming that they met on a crossroads and sealed their pact with a kiss. This makes Jeonghan laugh, the way humans seem to swoon at the idea, this kind of taboo fascination they have with the demonic form.

Sometimes, it’s interesting what Wonwoo says. He tells of him as a boy, plagued by visions and nightmares in equal measures, of discovering ancient tomes, of chaining his first demon at the age of ten and ripping out its soul by the age of eleven. It’s all fantasy, certainly, no human could be that powerful.

But it makes Jeonghan wonder.

His role in these acts fluctuate. Sometimes he sits across from Wonwoo, the mark between them pulsating under thin skin, and they do precognition, pick cards out of a deck wordlessly. Staring at each other, wordless, nothing but the beat of a drum their accompaniment. Other times, it’s a dance, Jeonghan’s human body propelling forward, pirouetting under the pulsating drum.

It’s always different but one factor remains constant: the applause. It’s intoxicating, this admiration the nameless and faceless audience feels for him. They know he’s a demon, they know he’s unholy, they know the sight of his true form would blind them all in fear and yet they _want _him. He can feel lust and pride and envy pounding across the room, this raw desire that overcomes them like a haze, to watch him, to fuck him, to be fucked by him, to be with him, to be him.

Jeonghan drinks it all. Feels like he could eat the sun.

There’s a high after the performance, there’s always a high, there’s never been a low. His brow coats with sweat and he eyes Wonwoo backstage, the audience applause refusing to die, an enkindled fire.

The Demon Tamer looks wild like this, licking the sweat off his lips. Like he can taste the glory. Jeonghan had wondered sometimes, why someone as intelligent and powerful as Wonwoo wasted himself away in a silly little affair like a circus when he could have clawed his way onto thrones of the highest power in the world, with only the slightest accompaniment of his demonic friends.

Jeonghan understands now. Wonwoo could be a leader, could be a king, could be a god, but none of that would compare to this, to this raw and unadulterated energy he feeds off as he stands in front of a roaring crowd. Wonwoo is no demon, but he may as well be, the way he devours it all.

“Good show,” Wonwoo exhales, steps forward, runs a hand through Jeonghan’s damp hair, pushes it out of his face. “You were excellent.”

“As were you.”

“I’m not going back to the tent yet,” Wonwoo says, shaking his arms out. “I have all this excess energy, I need to… get rid of it.”

Jeonghan can understand that. He feels like a glutton with the way he’s stuffed. “You plan to walk?”

“Well,” Wonwoo flashes a smile. “I plan to run, really. I’ll see you later.”

And he vanishes, sprinting away, the vision of his grin still in Jeonghan’s mind. Truthfully, Jeonghan’s experiencing the same phenomena. The crowd tonight was rowdier than ever, and when a button popped off his shirt as he swung down from a balance beam, the whistles he heard could feed him for weeks. This energy bubbles off his skin, unsure what to do with it. Feels like a live wire.

It seems almost too perfect that when he looks around he finds Joshua’s gaze on him, dark and heavy.

Jeonghan finds his footsteps guiding him there before he thinks better of it. “Did you watch my show?”

“Missed it. I was getting the things ready for my set,” Joshua answers. His voice is oddly restrained, like he’s holding half of his words back.

“That’s a pity,” Jeonghan breathes out. He’s still panting. He’s not sure why. This body does not experience exhaustion.

“It is. I wished I could have seen it.” Joshua pauses, wistful. “I would like to. Come to one of your shows, that is.”

“Good. I want you there,” Jeonghan says, thinking of the form of his figure as he dangles down a line of rope, but instead of nameless audience, it’s Joshua’s stare that’s fixated on him through it all.

“I have this timeslot until Mimi returns. It’s two weeks and a day. Besides that, I usually am free. Not many clients see me during a main show.”

“We don’t perform on a Monday,” Jeonghan says instantly.

“The Tuesday, then.”

It feels odd, planning this. This decisive effort to see each other. They’ve never done anything like this before, the circus isn’t one that’s planned beyond the roster sheet nailed up to the pole by Seokmin every morning. Jeonghan doesn’t care though. Now that the idea has taken hold, he can’t stop thinking about Joshua in the audience.

He’ll prepare something special for that night, he thinks.

“How did your act go?” Joshua asks, eyes bright.

“Fantastic,” Jeonghan replies, smiles with all his teeth. If Joshua’s heart flutters, it sounds like a drum to Jeonghan. He can detect everything now, can hear the flow of Joshua’s blood through his body, can individually determine each and every blink. “I held dominion over every single person’s mind when I’m on stage. They can’t look away even if they _try_.”

Joshua reaches his hand into Jeonghan’s hair, pushes it to the side. There’s something heavy in the gesture. Unlike what it was when Wonwoo did it.

“I’m glad the audience likes you.”

“They _love _me, Joshua.”

Joshua smiles then, softer. “On my way here, I read the room. With so many people there, it’s hard to distinguish between an individual thought, but there was one thing in common, and it was that that they were thinking about you.”

He’s already drunk on energy and Joshua’s words just spill him even further. Jeonghan feels more human and more demonic than he ever has in one moment. He wonders what it must be like when Joshua reads what’s inside his head.

He almost asks him — but no, Joshua would tell him if he wanted to.

ψ

"You spend a lot of time with the telepath." Wonwoo's intelligent. It's been his worst and best trait in Jeonghan's opinion. If he asked any other time, Jeonghan could slink away in a matter of minutes, use that clever forked tongue of his to whip up some excuse, some pressing matter that requires his attention in another tent. _Jun's snakes have gotten loose, requires urgent attention, Wonwoo, you understand right? _

But Wonwoo asked now, in the brief window of time where they plan a new set. Where the largest tent is free, where there are no onlookers, where they can practice in peace. Jeonghan's been incredibly bored by their current one, having done it some fifty times already.

He can't leave now, can't escape this conversation with the excuse of a fake herpetological emergency. Not without having to plaster on the same plastic smile and repeat the same gestures as he's done for a month.

He sets his face into a grin as he wraps the ribbons around his legs. He's been waiting for Wonwoo to allow him to do aerial stunts, really break in this human body of his, and he eagerly takes this opportunity Wonwoo has given him. He's seen human acrobats do things like these all the time, and Jeonghan knows— anything a human does he can do better.

"He's very interested in the concept of a real life demon.” Jeonghan looks at Wonwoo, his hands gloved as they always are. “Can we hardly blame him? I'm not exactly common."

Wonwoo snorts. Good. Keep him distracted with humour. "Won't deny that. But still, isn't it creeping you out a bit? If he is, let me know and I'll tell the Ringmaster.” His face turns sour for a moment at the idea of the conversation. “He's still a kid, if he's causing trouble, no one will have any issues kicking him out."

Jeonghan pulls so tight on the ribbon it snaps. "No!"

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

Understatement of emotional reactions is something both of them have mastered. Jeonghan apparently seems to have forgotten this skill. "That's not the case at all."

Wonwoo comes closer, inspects the ribbon. Ties it together and this time hooks it around Jeonghan's foot himself. "You sure you want to do this? I can probably organize some stronger strength rope but we'd have to postpone this routine."

"It's fine." It's not like falling would hurt. His bones would knit back together in the time it would take to stand back up. And the ribbon is so pretty as well, red silk. He'd look gorgeous wrapped around in it as he balances from the beams of the ceiling, drifting forward, climbing up, falling down, all under the command of Wonwoo's voice.

(Such pretty ribbon would look nice masking a pair of dark and shiny eyes, but Jeonghan doesn't think about that for too long.)

“There’s something… odd about him,” Wonwoo says, stepping back.

Jeonghan, halfway up the ribbon, dangles down at this, faces Wonwoo. His gaze is concerned behind his circular glasses. On stage, he takes them off. "What do you mean?" Curiosity is evident in his voice.

"He keeps trying to talk to me about you." Wonwoo's expression is hard to discern while upside down but it certainly isn't one of contentment. "He's very transparent. I can only control my thoughts so much. What could he even want with you?"

Jeonghan throws the question back to him. "Do you have any ideas?"

He laughs. "Maybe he wants to try and steal you."

The brand on the back of his right hand burns with ownership. "I don't think he'll know what to do with me," Jeonghan says, climbing back up to the ceiling. The movements are unfamiliar, but not difficult. It will take time to perfect the lines of his figure, but certainly this will be far more interesting than the same tired mentalist acts that they've been performing.

They don't talk much on silly personal matters, Wonwoo and Jeonghan. Perhaps it's because of the natural understanding that comes from the brand — or just because they seem to be similar kinds of people. Usually Jeonghan would not think much of Wonwoo's silence. He does, today.

From the top of the ceiling, the height is staggering. Such a drop could injure a mortal. Kill them, even. The only thing supporting Jeonghan are carefully placed strips of ribbon, entwining across his body. Wonwoo watches below in mute interest.

"I was thinking you'd take this pause to talk to the crowd," Jeonghan says. "And then I could start making my way down. How does that sound?"

It doesn't seem like he's listening. "Jeonghan, you know that Joshua could hurt you?"

The laugh Wonwoo gets in response is so loud, so rancous that Jeonghan has to clutch his side's to stop himself from tumbling over. "I think you're underestimating me. I know I can't breathe fire, but I'm not entirely helpless, you know."

And to show off, because Jeonghan loves to show off, he unwraps himself, lets him fall to the ground, the only thing stopping his descent from smashing into the floorboards is a single band of ribbon still tucked around his left foot. Wonwoo's gasp was all the reaction he needed.

"I'm aware of how powerful you are. But you must have noticed that Joshua can't be normal. No human is _born _telepathic, and the fact he claims that he is just concerns me even more. How can any of us truly guess what the extent of his power is?" Wonwoo steps forward, undoes the last ribbon, helps Jeonghan to the ground. "He could be hiding so much. He probably is."

"I hardly think Joshua is going to lock me in a box and keep me in the stables," Jeonghan scoffs. He can't deny the point Wonwoo has raised. Humans are not born telepathic. And Joshua is no charlatan. He's as real as Jeonghan is.

"And how do you know that? Jeonghan, you joke, but what evidence do you have to trust him?” He pauses. “You know nothing about him."

The retort is at the tip of his tongue. Of course Jeonghan knows things about Joshua, the very notion of anything otherwise is ridiculous.

But actually, he doesn't. He doesn't know his full name, doesn't know where he came from, doesn't know how he can read minds, doesn't know _why_ he chooses to. What he knows of Joshua is a drop in the ocean.

Jeonghan craves diving into deeper waters.

ψ

Demons are the manifestation of sin. This is a fact, this is a truth, this is written in the holy words of a thousand different books. He’s had masters in the past, who don’t understand, who take a look at eyes like crystals and hair like gold, and think only of keeping him in their bed, think he’s one of those incubi that are only interested in flesh. They couldn’t be more wrong. Jeonghan is not lust, not at all. Beauty can exist independent of any result. Beauty can exist for the sake of beauty.

Jeonghan can’t understand sin in the same way humans can. Just stop eating. Just stop angering. Just stop _stopping_. For Jeonghan, his existence has always been coveting what he could not have, what he did not understand, what he could not be.

For Jeonghan, he’s always been envious.

There’s no society among demons, they’re rabid like dogs, they kill and eat and sleep and that’s all they do, all they are is all they’ll ever be. Jeonghan’s always wanted more. He’s wanted what humans have, what they all take for granted.

Success is crafted in the veins of humans, it’s that evolutionary drive that pushed them beyond every rat or ape that they once called brother. They stand up straight, they invent tools, they make poetry, they make art, they make buildings, they make bombs and when they fall down, they build it all up again. It’s a constant cycle of destruction and accomplishment and Jeonghan watches it from the outside, desperate to feel the taste of what it means to gain glory. 

Wonwoo knew this about him. Knew it from the first second, when he saw his eyes like a fathomless pit. “I’ve heard of your kind.”

“My kind?” Jeonghan had preened, switching to human tongue like the words have always been in his mind. “You know what I am?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo had lied. That was good. You never reveal your doubts to a demon, after all. Jeonghan just has experience in this particular regard. It happens when you spend years and years in the realm above, you learn how to tell those tender human intricacies.

“I don’t often meet humans in my own realm,” Jeonghan said. “You usually summon us to you.”

“Well, I like to try before I buy,” Wonwoo replied. His teeth flashed into a smile, and Jeonghan reciprocated in the same second.

“You’re interesting. I like interesting.” When he’s back on Earth, he’ll have to diversify his vocabulary again. It’s dusty. “What do you want here?”

Wonwoo didn’t falter. “To make a deal.”

God must still have loved demons after all, to send this man directly to him. “A contract?” he replies.

He exhaled. Relief that the demon he’s talking to is familiar with the terms. “Exactly so.”

“What are your terms?” Jeonghan replied, his tail twirling around him in a display of interest. He tries to imagine what such a man wants. He’s clever, clearly, but also daring. Immortality is a common request, but a foolish and impossible one, and someone this well-versed in demonology would not make a mistake. Jeonghan observes him closer, the sharp angle of his jaw a contrast to the almost childlike nature of his curly hair. The midpoint of twenty and thirty, Jeonghan decides. Far too young to call for demon-bestowed youth.

He’s attractive too, objectively. Too attractive to be seeking mates in the City of Dis. Perhaps some incubus or imp has caused trouble to him personally, and he seeks a particular vengeance.

“I want you to be my vassal.”

“Your servant?” Jeonghan replied, disbelief inescapable from his voice. It’s been a good many centuries since he has waited on a master, and frankly, he’s not too eager to be refreshed.

“Not in the sense you’re thinking,” Wonwoo said, his voice carefully measured. “I tame demons.”

“As a career path?’ Jeonghan said, amusement obvious.

“As a passion,” Wonwoo had replied. Jeonghan searches for a trace of mercy in his eyes and finds none.

Jeonghan likes that.

“So, you want to have control over me?” Giving up agency is interesting, certainly. Worth a high price as well. Jeonghan might be willing to cut a deal.

“I want you to perform. I work in a circus.” Wonwoo eyes Jeonghan now, carefully, analyzing every inch of his form. If Jeonghan had known he was getting company, he would have dressed up a bit, filed his horns down at least. “You know what those are?”

Bright torches. A red flag blowing in the distance. A man with his face painted white and a garish jumpsuit of flour bags and ladies undergarments. His master, the actress with silver hair, took him there after an invite from her work colleagues. Jeonghan had stared in blank amazement that this is what passed for entertainment for humans. He remembers how Yoohyeon looked under the glow of firelight, how beautiful she was. Jeonghan wishes he knew what it was like to be in love then, because it would have been the perfect moment for it. That much, he knows.

“I do,” Jeonghan replies. He tries to replicate the memory but with himself on stage. “You want me to… dance around?”

“Not quite,” Wonwoo tells a story with his hands, mapping out the circus through gestures. “What I do is a lot more intimate and a lot more severe. I don’t sing, I don’t dance, I don’t _perform_.” He pauses. “_You_ do. I tell you to jump, you jump. I tell you to talk, you talk. I tell you to bleed, you bleed.”

“And what’s in it for me?”

“Glory,” Wonwoo replies. He may not know he’s an envy demon, but he certainly seems to know what Jeonghan likes. “You will be treated between a God and Devil. More than that, even. They’ll be unable to keep their eyes off of you, they’ll spend every last penny to see you one more time. You will be _idolized_.”

Wouldn’t that be nice? To have people see just how spectacular Jeonghan is, how much better he is than those all those others? After a lifetime of contracts that left him in the shadows, it’s certainly enticing to be in the spotlight.

“Idolized,” Jeonghan hums. It’s a nice word. Jeonghan likes it. Thinks it suits the balance of him, the parts that aren’t his pointy tail and his fangs like knives.

“You don’t kill, you don’t hurt. You can have my energy but not my soul. And in exchange, I give you fame, I give you glory, I give you a purpose,” Wonwoo says and a grin creeps upon his face, the kind that comes with knowledge so powerful, it makes the owner of it even more. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, envy demon?”

And Jeonghan had smiled, because he loves when humans surprise him.

ψ

If Joshua were a demon, he’d be one of pride. Jeonghan realizes this sooner than he thought he ever would.

“This isn’t your first contract,” Joshua says. No doubt. Merely confirmation.

“Who told you that?”

“Picked it out of Chan’s mind like it was a grape from the vine.” There’s a grin at the end, cleverly disguised. He looks down, shuffling the cards in his hand. Goat skulls decorate the back, sketched in white and gold.

Jeonghan isn’t upset that Joshua found out this information. It’s hardly a secret. Indeed, Chan had asked him with eyes wide as saucer plates after a show, sweat mixed with foundation running down his cheeks.

_“I think you’re real, you know? But I also think that you’ve been here before. How else could you be such a natural?”_

And Jeonghan told him, said he’s been with many, many masters. He doesn’t mention that all of those masters met their demise at his own hands. That’s hardly appropriate. 

“They say you humans tamed wolves first,” Jeonghan says. “That’s a lie. You tamed demons — and then _we _spoke to the wolves.”

Joshua’s eyes flash. “You can’t be that old.”

“Then you can’t comprehend my existence,” Jeonghan replies. He thinks about his conversation with Wonwoo, and attempts to unravel perhaps the most simplest of what he wonders. “Where are you from?” Jeonghan asks.

Joshua’s hands, cutting out stars, stagger and the scissors slips, causing an incision across the red paper. Flaps in the wind like a cartoonish depiction of blood.

“Do you count familiarity with the innerstate geography as one of your strong suits?”

Jeonghan pauses, frowns. “No.”

Every now and again, a group of people who think they’re too important cut up the world into new divisions with imaginary lines and give them unknown names. This is a cycle that repeats itself. For this reason, until very recently, Jeonghan had not known Australia existed. He wasn’t particularly thrilled to find out it did.

Joshua rotates the paper, tries to work his way around the tear. It’s baffling that the closest thing he has to set up costs is the amount of time he spends on decoration. He often complains about his clients making themselves overly comfortable in his tent and crushing the paper stars, leaving their cigarette ash stains all over his precious tablecloth. When he asked Jeonghan for his help, Jeonghan had replied in confusion, was under the impression that he usually forced the older children to help. Didn’t say no, though, which is why Jeonghan now pours over the worn instructions on constructing origami butterflies.

“It’s far from here,” Joshua says after a moment. Says the name, too, and Jeonghan didn’t expect to know where it was and it isn’t surprised when he does.

“Is your family there?”

If he keeps breaking paper like this there won’t be much left for making the decorations.

“I don’t have a family.”

That’s interesting to say the least, but again, not anything Jeonghan didn’t already think about. It’s hard to imagine any sort of present parental figures consenting to Joshua joining the circus, even if his talents do appear to be frighteningly real.

“Neither do I, no need to look so gloomy about it,” Jeonghan says. He smooths a sheet of purple paper and folds the first corner. “Mother?”

“Dead.”

“Father?”

“I never knew him.”

Jeonghan’s eyes flash upwards, connects with Joshua’s. He prompts conversation with a tilt of his head. Jeonghan is unable to refuse his unspoken request.

“I’m curious if you’ve ever met another person with your abilities. Perhaps not necessarily your mother, but… _anyone_.”

“No,” Joshua answers. “Just me.”

“Just you,” Jeonghan repeats. He drops his head, makes the next fold in the paper. He’s better at this than he thought he’d be, and the repetitive motions are soothing.

“You never tell me about your past,” Joshua says.

What a silly comment. “I’m sure you already know everything from my thoughts.”

There’s such a restrained silence that Jeonghan looks up. “I can’t understand your thoughts. You think in a language I can’t comprehend.” His tone is almost shameful. “I’ve tried, I’ve researched but it isn’t even a _human _tongue.”

Demons speak in a language of their own. Even when he speaks to Wonwoo, it’s with words he would understand. Jeonghan had not considered this would naturally be true for Joshua as well.

Joshua’s breath is unsteady. “It’s times like these where I wish I was in your head,” he says. “Where I wish I could just reach in and see what you’re thinking because I can _feel _how fast your thoughts are rushing past but I can’t understand any.”

Safe. Jeonghan feels safe inside his head, realizes everything contained within is his own, that all the careful walls he had built up without knowing can crumble down, that he can think freely and absolutely.

He looks at Joshua. Considers just how impossibly beautiful he is.

“That’s how you knew I was a demon,” Jeonghan says, realization dawning over him.

“If you were lying, I’d have known.” Joshua looks up at Jeonghan, almost fearful. “Your thoughts are like the deep end of a pool that I can never reach.”

He gazes down, presses the next fold. “If there’s anything you ever want to know, Joshua, you can just ask me. I’ll tell you everything.” His own honesty surprises him. 

Joshua pauses. Looks down. “That’s a beautiful butterfly, Jeonghan.”

He holds it out to him. Gazes down at the paper creature and instantly decides it’s not good enough for Joshua, that he can see crease lines. He needs to make a better butterfly, a suitably beautiful one. “No, let me try again.”

Intends to crush it in his palm, but is stopped by Joshua’s own hand, plucking the origami butterfly from its certain doom. “I love it, Jeonghan. You’re a natural.”

The praise rushes through him, and Jeonghan cannot contain the grin that presents itself on his face, his distaste at the creature vanished. “I’ll make you better ones.”

“I’m sure you will,” he says patiently, “but I’m keeping this one for me.”

He allows Joshua to take the butterfly, memorizes the look on his face, covets it as his own as only he elicited such joy.

“Thank you,” Joshua says. No hesitation. Leans forward, cups his hand on his jaw. Kisses the skin on his cheek.

_Mine_, Jeonghan thinks distantly, and is grateful Joshua cannot understand him. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll see you in the end notes but two things to note: this is now a fic of three chapters, and it's getting progressively darker and bloodier, stay safe and comfy!

Sound travels far in the empty tent. Even the softest spoken word resounds across the empty benches, and the absence of applause leaves a haunting taste in Jeonghan’s mouth. He’s never been here before, not at night. He wouldn’t even be allowed in — these shows are sold out so often, the sign could be considered a constant fixture. This is the main stage, this is success, _permanence_. The Ringmaster calls it the amphitheatre, and it’s as close to the real structure the circus would ever manage, and they treat the name with adoration. Sharp lightning rigs illuminate a vast stage, awaiting those worthy to walk on. Live musicians play an accompaniment to the most fantastic of performances, showcasing the very peak of human ability and talent. Jeonghan doesn’t often realize how warped his views of the demon tamer are, how to him he’s the center of the universe but to everyone else Wonwoo is merely a side attraction, something to gawk at in the interim as the amphitheatre packs. They’ve never been requested for a performance here. Wonders what he would even do in a space this big.

“Soonyoung is going to offer you the performance of the summer solstice,” Joshua says. He speaks so softly, but it echoes. “He’s been talking it over with Seokmin, and he thinks that you and the demon tamer could handle the main slot of the night.”

There’s a tightrope above. Jeonghan’s never walked on it, never needed to prove to himself or anyone else that he could balance. He knows he can.

"Oh that'll be amazing, won't it?" Jeonghan breathes out. He thinks of it now, of the applause like a siren song surrounding him, of the eyes of every single person in that room entirely fixated by him. "Wonwoo hasn't said anything to me yet."

"He doesn't know. Soonyoung was thinking it when he watched your show last night. His thoughts are easy to spot in a crowd, they’re always so coarse and jagged, like pencil lines on a page."

"I wasn't aware he was in the audience," Jeonghan replies. It was by no means a unique performance, but he supposed he's used to excellence by now. He always presents his best, anything less does not exist.

Joshua nods. His heart seems to be pounding. “I was there as well. You looked amazing. You were...” he exhales. “Amazing.”

Jeonghan had thought he understood humans, he thought he could grow used to the praise he’s heard a hundred times before, but it’s _different _when it’s Joshua. It’s not like the buzz of an audience, that energy courses through him to a dangerous degree, makes him intoxicated. With Joshua, it’s less like that, far more personal, far more like Jeonghan _needs _this. When it’s Joshua, it feels like he was always thirsty and now was _finally_ permitted to drink the entire ocean. He nears closer, and Joshua’s fingers dance on the edge of Jeonghan’s hand, playing with the cuff of his shirt. It’s an absent-minded touch. Burns.

“I like that you’re growing out your hair,” Joshua says. He looks like he wants to touch it. It’s a desire so powerful that it floods Jeonghan's senses. Overwhelming to be near it. His mouth dries out, feels his mind race to put necessary distance before they get too close.

“I ate the soul of my last master,” Jeonghan says.

Joshua halts. “Sorry?”

“I broke the terms of our contract. I gained his trust and tore him apart.” Jeonghan doesn’t know why he says this.

He hasn’t thought about Seunghyub in so long, about the silhouette his long black overcoat would make, of the way he lifted his face up to stormy grey clouds, jaw cut firm and graceful, of his rumbling voice as he used to read aloud from Latin tomes. Remembers how bitter he tasted though. He doesn’t have the capacity to experience guilt — that’s what he tells himself, and yet, swallowing Seunghyub’s soul felt heavier than the weight of his body in his hands.

Jeonghan knows why he says this. It’s how to say “_I’m dangerous_”. That's what humans like after all, isn't it, to learn lessons through stories.

“He wasn’t the first.”

“Not your first contract?”

“Not the first contract I’ve _broken_,” Jeonghan corrects. “There was a woman. She was an actress. She was so beautiful. Silver hair that fanned out like a curtain. I was with her for ten years. And she wasn't an exception either.” Yoohyeon loved pearls. She’d asked why Jeonghan had given her the necklace months and months before her birthday. Sentimentality, Jeonghan had said, but that wasn't the truth. It was a parting gift.

But how silly of her, to trust a demon.

“This seems like a pattern,” Joshua replies. Unease settles to the surface of his face. He’s not sure what to say. Jeonghan isn’t sure what he wants to hear.

“I’m a demon,” Jeonghan says and it’s an explanation but it’s also not. “They know the risks when they make a deal with me. And they’d have killed me too, if I hadn’t moved first.”

That’s what he tells himself. Yoohyeon herself had been looking for ways to extricate herself from the contract she’d made, and was not concerned with leaving Jeonghan as a casualty. It’s a matter of timing, of waiting to strike. One of his first masters had even fought Jeonghan, stabbed him in the shoulder with a ritual knife, tried to purge the evil out of him, as if it was possible, as if he wouldn’t retaliate, as if he wouldn't _win_.

“A relationship destined for destruction,” Joshua remarks. He’s not touching Jeonghan anymore. "Destined to burst into flames."

Flammable, yes, but that doesn’t mean the warmth before the fire consumes make contracts any less meaningful.

“I can only exist in this realm when I’m under command." 

“You’re only here because of the demon tamer, then?”

Jeonghan thinks of curly hair, of a smirk, of the way his voice sounded when he named him ‘envy demon’. “Yes.”

It’s so hauntingly quiet in the amphitheatre, that each moment Joshua decides not to speak drags on for even longer, pulling its sluggish tension with it. “So, one day you’ll kill Wonwoo?”

When he looks at Jeonghan, he can sense Joshua's displeasure at his impenetrable thoughts.

In all manner of questions, Jeonghan did not expect this one. His master, his dark-eyed, gloved master. Even the very idea seems absurd. Wonwoo isn’t _like _the others who sought their personal gain and were satisfied with the top, Wonwoo is insatiable, will never stop desiring more. And yet, the wheel keeps going around, and the pattern never changes, and Jeonghan will serve Wonwoo for many, many years but eventually he won’t, and what then? 

“I suppose I will,” Jeonghan says with no enthusiasm. A world without Wonwoo seems considerably duller. Even so far into the future he can’t see the colours, merely the thought of it lacking Wonwoo paints it in grey. Such an intelligent human with such sincerity is hard to come by. His soul would be delicious — it’s just Jeonghan can’t stomach the idea that there would ever be a time where Wonwoo does not exist. 

*

Their fingers interlink. Jeonghan had not realized how much bigger Wonwoo’s hand is in comparison to his own. Such slender fingers are far too beautiful to be contained in gloves all day. In these times now, where his skin is bared, it serves nice to know his palm is soft. Once, when they first cut the deal, Wonwoo’s hands were seared and burnt, thick like leather, but prosperity and stability has allowed him to rest.

“Pause — and then a step back,” Wonwoo says. His forehead touches against Jeonghan’s. Jeonghan can count his eyelashes, so he does. There’s 98 on his upper lid. He means to count the bottom lid as well, but his inner metronome takes over, and he moves back at the specified time. Connecting them now is the red ribbon interlocked around their wrists. "Another step, and then spin."

“Beautiful,” Wonwoo remarks. Takes another step back, twists it further. “This was an incredible routine, Jeonghan, thank you. So much better than anything I’d have come up with.”

He preens under the praise. Wonwoo learnt a long time ago how to use his words to affect Jeonghan the best, how to fully utilize an envy demon. The rush of energy just from being _compared _to Wonwoo is enough, makes him feel satisfied.

Truthfully, that’s always what life under Wonwoo’s contract is like. _Satisfying_, He enjoys Wonwoo’s company immensely, doesn’t often feel like that’s his master. Considers him almost like his friend. Has reason to believe Wonwoo thinks the same. Before, he never used to take off his gloves, even when they rehearsed, something about the intimacy of the marks touching was a degree too much for him.

But that’s changed. When their marks connect, Jeonghan’s left hand to Wonwoo’s right, they seem to swirl together, conjoined, like someone drew it in one fell swoop of their fountain pen. He makes this gesture now, lets the ribbon draw them closer together like a red string of fate.

“I have news for you,” Wonwoo murmurs, and repeats the routine from the beginning. “We got offered an amphitheatre slot.”

“Excellent.”

Perhaps he’s forgotten how perceptive Wonwoo can be. His eyebrows furrow. “You don’t seem the least bit surprised.”

“I’m thrilled,” Jeonghan bats his eyelids. “Really. I think it’s great. It’ll be fun.”

“I agree, but you’re also not surprised,” Wonwoo steps back, folds his arms. “How could you begin to know? Did Soonyoung speak to you already?”

If he wanted to lie, he should have fabricated one earlier. It’s too late now, and his hesitance damns him to truth. “Joshua told me. He read it from the Ringmaster’s mind.”

Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows. “Ah.”

Not wanting to look him in the eye any further, Jeonghan focuses on hoisting himself up to the lighting rig, tying himself to the ribbon that dangles from it. Climbs it up like it’s a ladder, and by the time he looks down next, Wonwoo is like a smudge on the floor.

“Be careful, Jeonghan,” Wonwoo says. Concern in his voice has an underlying threat. “You’re not the kind to make foolish mistakes.”

“I don’t make mistakes at all.”

It sounds almost like Wonwoo is disciplining him. "Jeonghan, I have grown fond of you over the years but there's more than just you at stake. Demon presence in the human world is tenuous, and your position here is exceptionally fragile — I'd hate for you to give me a reason to make you leave."

There's truth to Wonwoo's words and he said as much after they made their contract, that his existence at the circus is on the condition that not a single tangible effect of demonic influence remains, not a single soul devoured, not the faintest trace of energy stolen. And if he did falter, the consequences would be… _unfavourable _for Wonwoo, who'd have to answer why he's been consorting with demons.

Any mistake, to either of their faults, results in danger to them both. And Jeonghan more than understands this, and in fact, would be suspicious of any contract holder who did not have such clear terms. Wonwoo _should _be able to end his demon as a contingency plan — just as Jeonghan can do the same to Wonwoo. 

What humans struggle to comprehend about the contract between a demon and a vassal is that what connects them is not a bond of mutual gain, no, it’s a pledge of mutually assured destruction. It’s the concept that either individual stands to gain so much of the other’s demise, and yet, is aware that they would not succeed. Each party had to play their role, as it is when they don't, that they stand to leave themselves in ruin.

So they work together. The vassal feeds the demon. The demon strengthens the vassal. This cycle will continue and continue until one betrays the other and it is truly impossible to predict who breaks first. This is because yes, demons are evil, but so are the people who try to make deals with them.

Ψ

The nature of a human heart is that it longs to beat. Beats a constant rhythm but it’s just the bass notes, it longs for an accompaniment. Jeonghan knows the mechanical workings of a human heart well, knows the ventricles and the atriums, knows the veins and the arteries. His familiarity is a necessity, he’s studied the structure for so long, of course he does — he made his own heart himself. Fashioned the muscle out of the red rock in the City of Dis, ripped his chest open with his talons and stuck it inside, felt his chest grow heavy with an unmovable weight. Stimulated beats with the pulsation of his own hands, walked around like that for hours and hours, trying to tempt the clay to life until finally, it settled itself into his ribcage and remained there, fastened itself with the newfound blood vessels. He approximated the shape as best he could after hours and hours of meticulous examination with specimen in varying states of decay, blood dyeing his hands a perpetual crimson. It’s strange, then, that he was a perfectionist in its creation, was painstaking in his sample collection, ripped open the ribcages of a dozen or more and yet, he thinks he made a mistake — he thinks he made his heart too big.

That’s that human expression isn’t it, having a too big heart. That it’s like an affliction. When love overflows from its blood-red cup, it’s said that their heart grew in size to compensate for this. Jeonghan assumed this to be a metaphor. To his growing concern, he begins to doubt. For the first time in so many lives, Jeonghan can feel his heart, the way it beats but also the way it _lights up _whenever Joshua is near.

It’s too late. Practically, sensibly, it’s too late. It’s hardly like Jeonghan can nip back down to the land of Dis where the rock is red and the air is thick with ash, he can’t make himself a new heart, a smaller one, an imperfect replica. He can’t rip open his own chest anymore. Would hurt too much. But even if he could, it’s hard to summon up any profound desire not, not when the sight of Joshua is enough to make _everything _seem worth it.

He spends too much time with Joshua, time where they lie back on the soft grass, the circus continuing around them, a low buzz of conversation in the background. They stare up at the sky, and speak of whatever thought crosses their mind, and Joshua… well, Joshua’s mind has always been a little too sharp.

“Can demons love?” Joshua asks. It’s asked under the illusion of spontaneity, but Jeonghan notices the way Joshua’s nails dig into his pals, the determined glint in his eye, the rigid posture he holds himself in. He’s been planning to say ask.

Jeonghan’s gaze is fixed on the clouds. The City of Dis is hardly known for its views, no tourist attraction, and if he ever gazed up at the cemetary sky while there, all he’d see is dull carmine red expanses. Earth is better. _Blue_. Jeonghan has grown to like blue, associates it with the life of this strange world he’s found himself in. Finds a calming presence in it that he doesn’t feel elsewhere.

Perhaps that’s to do with Joshua, though.

“I’ve never asked and I can't speak for the rest,” Jeonghan replies. “I’m more of the rare ones. Not many demons make contracts.”

“You’ve told me that,” Joshua says. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

Jeonghan is quiet. “Residing in Dis… it’s impossible. The capacity for those kind of emotions is beyond the depth of what can be felt underneath the carmine sky.” Next to him, Joshua stiffens. “But once in the human realm, it’s different.”

Jeonghan hesitates. “I’m different.”

Voice softer than the wind, Joshua asks: “How?”

“Possession is how demons enter this realm. Ultimately you're living in a house that someone else made. I'm not like that.” Jeonghan says. “I created my own. I made myself into what I thought the picture of beauty was, I made my own face, and I made my own heart.” If he closes his eyes he can still feel his talons shearing into his chest now, forcing the rock to turn to tissue. “Whatever I am, I made.”

“You want to know how it feels to be human?” Joshua murmurs, pulls Jeonghan’s hand to his heart. Pulls the rest of him too, till Jeonghan is on top of him, his weight heavy and hot. Feels the erratic thumping of Joshua’s chest. He’s never been this close before. He’s never noticed how deep Joshua’s eyes could be. “It’s that.”

“I have one too,” Jeonghan says, struggling. “I have a heart.” He can feel it. It’s racing. Might burst out, bleed all over the floor.

“It’s not about the organ. It’s about what you’re making it do. It’s what you’re making _my _heart do,” Joshua whispers. “Jeonghan, you omit and lie. You tell me things that aren’t true all the time. Will you be honest with me? Just once? Please.”

Jeonghan doesn’t have the strength left to deny him.

“Do you care for me?”

This wouldn’t happen if they were demons. Demons do not have the capacity to love another demon. Certainly not in their true form. And yet, even knowing this, Jeonghan dreams of how Joshua would look like on the thrones in Dis, fingers tapering off into talons, teeth like fangs. Jeonghan would worship him, would bend down and be grateful for the privilege to be able to look up at his raven wings hovering behind, be _blessed _at the view of how beautiful he’d look. Almost as beautiful as how he looks now, lips gently parted, eyes wide with curiosity and desire.

“What are you thinking?” Joshua pries as he always does.

Jeonghan never tells him. He leans in and kisses him instead. And this, this has to be demonic, it’s an all-consuming urge, one kiss isn’t enough, he has to have more more more. Joshua is warm and willing underneath him, and he kisses Jeonghan so viciously it’s like he’s ravenous, wants nothing more than to eat him. Jeonghan is inclined to let him. He feels nails scratch into his scalp, fingers entwined in strands of golden hair. When he pulls, Jeonghan mutters something indiscernible to human language, a sound more suited to a forked tongue.

Overwhelming. These sensations are overwhelming, and Jeonghan can’t discern one from the other, the crisp taste of Joshua’s mouth is what Jeonghan can hear, and the touch of his skin is felt through fingertip tastebuds. He feels teeth and tongue, and realizes how out of his depth he is, what _power _Joshua kept trapped behind his guileless facade.

Jeonghan deposits himself between Joshua’s knees — was not prepared to feel himself immediately trapped within them, his jailor smiling up at him, almost daring Jeonghan to say something. He has no words, none in this language and none in any other. He leans down, captures his lips again.

Desire is strange. To not have it for so long, and all it takes is one kiss, and Jeonghan can feel himself disassembling, rearranging himself into a vessel that needs little else except the continued touch of Joshua and Joshua alone.

“What took you this long to do this?” Joshua demands, voice thick with want. “Why do you just look and never touch?”

A thousand excuses and explanations rush at the tip of his tongue. Jeonghan means to deliver them — Joshua takes them himself, kisses deeper, unapologetically. Jeonghan squirms when Joshua’s hands settle down, pushing through the loose top, ravenous for skin contact.

It’s around this time that Jeonghan becomes abundantly _aware _of their surroundings, that although they rest on the outskirts of the circus, they are out in the open, exposed. Jeonghan has no such thing as shame — but refuses to allow anyone else bear witness the pleasure of Joshua unravelling.

“Not here,” Jeonghan says, lets his lips press against the line of Joshua’s neck as an apology.

He is not satisfied with this, his legs tightening around Jeonghan’s waist. “I’m hungry,” he says, stretching his words out like syrup, smiling sweetly. “I don’t _want _to stop.”

Perhaps he’s never been so reckless before but the stakes have never been higher. Jeonghan wraps Joshua around him, lifts him, and he’s effortless. With speed that has to be inhuman, Jeonghan carries him into Joshua’s tent, and it’s only then that he realizes he has no idea what to do next. No, he knows what he wants to do, he wants to put his mouth on every inch of exposed skin Joshua has, wants to offer him that most human of pleasures, wants to be selfish enough and experience it for himself.

But he finds himself flustered in Joshua’s space, lets him down gently, and then feels shyness overcome him. Experience tells him the physical motions, would not prepare him for the sight of cut-out paper stars littering his table. Feels out of place, suddenly, like the first bulb to burst in a lit room.

He doesn’t belong here, he’s not meant for things like this, he’s shouldn’t—

And then there’s a warm hand encircling his own, fingers linking together and Jeonghan finds himself being pulled into the inner tent, onto the bed and back in Joshua’s arms. His smile is positively lethal.

“Better?”

Jeonghan swallows down the rest of Joshua’s words, digs his hands into his hair. If he lets himself run on instinct then it’s fine, if he just roots himself in his own distant attempt at humanity, at being a real person. He recedes back into action, thinks only of where to touch Joshua next, how best to remove the layers that separate their skin, how sweet his thighs taste. His energy is so heightened, the air seems to crackle with it. 

“Do I need to tell you how to fuck me?”

“I know _how_,” Jeonghan says, presses his forehead against Joshua’s. Inhales, then savours the sweat against his own unaffected skin.

“Do you really?” It’s curiosity but there’s a tint to it. Jealousy. And Jeonghan knows that so well, drinks it in.

And he does know the motions, knows the particular manner in which humans do _this_, but while he’s been with others before, he’s never been with Joshua. And Joshua is nothing, if not the _exception _to everything Jeonghan’s ever known.

“Tell me how,” Jeonghan says, his decision made. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Joshua’s hand is against Jeonghan’s nape, holding him tightly. Brings him even closer. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to obey my orders.”

Even after all this time, Joshua still doesn’t understand. If Jeonghan wanted to break his contract, he would have done so a hundred days ago. And if Jeonghan wanted to leave Joshua, he already would have. Anything more and he can’t. And now, he doesn’t think he ever can.

“Let me make you feel good,” Jeonghan says. He’s kissed then, Joshua’s lips all-consuming and powerful. His voice is a tight rope walk, carefully restrained as he instructs Jeonghan on where to touch him and how, and Joshua falters, pleasure cresting through the words he speaks, but he never overbalances.

Each touch is a fever, races through Jeonghan’s veins. He learns Joshua’s body, learns the way to make him whisper and whine and moan. Hypnotic is the way he arches against the bed, forever beautiful. They’re so close, breaths intermixing, and still, Jeonghan never moves back. Doesn’t see much of a point. He’s too far gone, now, knows he’ll accept whatever’s coming his way, the consequences at the hands of his tamer or his demons.

He just, he feels so tired afterwards, so absolutely drained. Happiness glows on him as he watches Joshua curl into him, his hand splayed across his own chest as a possessive display — but Jeonghan can’t deny the absolute exhaustion that overcomes him like a wave.

It’s unfamiliar.

But worth it, Jeonghan knows that much.

Ψ

Perfection does not exist, but damn, he’s close. Flaws may make a human, well, good for Jeonghan, he’s never needed to worry about that at all. He’s effortlessly beautiful, a face he carved himself in the image of kings and gods. A mind teeming with intelligence, housed in a body capable of prestigious physical ability far beyond that of any mere mortal. He can win every race, he can climb every mountain and he can master any game of chess. The summer solstice has arrived and with it, there’s a wind in the air. Jeonghan stands on the main stage of the amphitheatre and he should feel like the miracle he is. Chemical reactions make up the basis for every metabolic reaction in a human’s body — Jeonghan has no such limitations. He is pure boundless demonic energy.

And now, for the first time, he’s _tired_.

Audience applause, usually music to his ears and energy through his veins, is now just a relentless buzzing, overstimulation to his mind. It should be better than ever, really, the summer solstice has drawn quite the crowd in and the amphitheatre is packed for such an _interesting _choice of main show. His body is slugging, unresponsive, and movements that were once as graceful as a swan are reduced to simple-minded stumbling. It’s not a question of mental weakness, he can see the motions in his head crystal clear. It’s himself that struggles, that _falters_. He tries to focus on the routine:_ two steps back, a flip in mid-air, fasten the ribbon around his leg and grapple up, wait for Wonwoo’s signal, then spin. _He invented this himself, of course he can do this, but oh, he feels a weight in his bones like iron.

Two steps back — and he stumbles, but it’s near imperceptible. Wonwoo didn’t even notice, his gaze intense, eyes dark-rimmed with kohl. He’s telling the story again, of how he met a demon on a crossroads and struck a deal sealed with a kiss. Jeonghan always thought it was just the storyteller in him — now he wonders if this happened before, if Wonwoo’s recounting a memory rather than a fantasy.

Distantly, Jeonghan wonders why the spotlight is on him. And then, he realizes.

Jeonghan’s missed his cue. This has never happened before. Jeonghan can perform his entire routine with a fraction of his attention and still execute it flawlessly. Tonight is not that reality. Wonwoo gazes at him, Jeonghan’s feet still firmly on the ground, _not _hovering in air like he’s supposed to be, not delicately bound in ribbons like a present awaiting eager fingers.

Jeonghan bows his head, and flips as he was supposed to before the delay. Wonwoo, a consummate professional, resumes.

“Demons are not like you and I, not at all, the gifts they possess are stronger than we can ever realize. Their hearts are as black as cardinal sin,” Wonwoo’s tone is modulated, careful emphasis where necessary. He can command an audience through willpower alone, and that’s nothing short of sorcery. 

Gravity weighs down on Jeonghan as he attempts to crawl up the ribbon. His body does not make the sweet S-shaped curve it’s supposed to, as he slouches and slumps his way up. Where the ribbon is fastened around his ankles, it cuts like a chain into the flesh, starts to throb. A simple task becomes a trial, and Jeonghan’s body protests each and every movement he makes. Lacking the fundamental energy he needs to do the simplest of tricks, he wonders if he can even get it past this entire show. Each motion takes what little he has left and he’s aware of the stakes, knows that it is more than just his _job _to perform, but oh. He’s _exhausted_.

The tether of ribbon may as well be a rope to the heavens, it stretches out to infinity, promising reward and prosperity to those willing to climb but he can’t anymore even if he _needs _to. His hands _burn_, each movement forward feels like he slides further down. He desires to just let go, let himself fall to the floor and lie there. It would be far less painful than attempting to contort his body in these positions. He wants to be a fallen angel onto himself, he wants to be beautiful even with his wings fractured beyond repair.

He falls.

The world spins around him. He sees the blurred faces of the audience, Wonwoo’s face frozen in a mask of abject horror, sees the spotlights bearing down on him. And he sees the ribbon, coyly out of reach, as if _daring_ him to try and save himself. Jeonghan stretches his hand out, feels the silk wrap around the tips of his fingers, tries to hang on, red slipping through his pale skin — but it passes through. It doesn’t save him. It watches him plunge.

Wood splinters, the sound loud and rough. He catapults _through _the stage, his vision distorted by sawdust and sediment both. His back finally lands on the cold, dark earth and there’s a disconcerting crack from his bones. Not even grass grows here, not a single ray of sun has penetrated here ever since the amphitheatre was created. The thick sand offers no relief, all it does is fracture his vertebral column. Pain radiates through Jeonghan like a wave.

He doesn’t scream but he’d like to.

Looking up is all he can do, paralyzed. He can still see the stage lights, he can still see the red ribbon. Waves at him as if to say, _oh hello there, shouldn’t you be here?_ He stares at the pendulum oscillation, traces it with his eyes while his body is paralyzed in itself. Does not try and move another muscle. Allows himself to merely exist in his ocean of agony. He does not know how long he waits here, at the bottom of the collapsed stage, having caved in through the foundations, but he knows when a change occurs.

The spotlights are obscured by a head of thick, curly hair. Wonwoo desperately searches until he finds him, stares down, his eyes wild.

“Jeonghan,” he exhales in relief. He sticks his hand out, a lifeline. “Take my hand.” Jeonghan watches it. He can’t quite reach his body from the height of the stage, but if Jeonghan were to will himself to stand, he could be lifted out. Wonwoo is strong enough. Jeonghan does _not _rise, does not move at all.

“Jeonghan, are you okay?” Wonwoo demands, his voice running thick with an emotion Jeonghan can’t discern. There’s nothing of the stage presence anymore, nothing of the demon tamer he presents himself as. His eyes seem to glisten, but surely that must be from the stage make-up. “Jeonghan, can you move?”

Opens his jaw — pauses to spit out blood condensed in his mouth. He tries again.

“Order me to and I will,” Jeonghan answers. His voice so soft and stilted, he’s not sure Wonwoo can hear him. He gazes up at his hand, the same one that shares their mark, the glowing purple pulsating. Jeonghan watches it, and waits.

The order never comes.

“I’m coming down.”

Ψ

“I do apologize for disrupting your rest,” Seokmin says, smiling blithely. “But my husband and I believe that the sooner we resolve this, the better. I’m sure you understand the importance of a rapid response.”

“I agree with you, Ringmaster,” Wonwoo replies, playing the role of subservient employee as best he can. “But my demon is still recovering. Is it really necessary for him to be present? I assure you I will relay all relevant to information to him once his spine stops being broken in two.”

“Was he not the one who fell? How silly would it be, to have a meeting about an incident and not involve the party at fault?” There is no room for compromise in Seokmin’s voice. Jeonghan closes his eyes, counts to ten, and forces himself to rise. His legs cave in almost immediately, and he digs his nails into the bedframe, wishes for talons so it could root him better. Still, however many unconscious hours he spent healing have left him with the ability to walk again, and for that Jeonghan is grateful.

He’s not in the medical tent, something he can only assume was Wonwoo’s own doing. There’s very little the medics can do to help him, not when his bones reknit themselves together even now. It’s a struggle walking forward, his body sluggish and unreceptive, like wading through fog.

The bed he was on seems to be in the private quarters of the Ringmasters, and Jeonghan’s gaze takes a cursory sweep. The vanity table is filled with more make-up products than the face painters, and there’s sequins scattered on the floor like stardust. Yellowed newspaper clippings are pasted on the walls, all concerning the circus, some so old it predates Seokmin’s arrival — and one that even announces it, mentions the married couple turned Ringmasters, a real feel-good piece. There’s even a column written about someone who had gone to see ‘enigmatic yet compelling demon tamer and his pet’. He catches sight of his reflection for a moment, at the smear of blood across his lips and wipes it off with the back of his hand. 

“Fine.” It’s useful that Wonwoo’s resounding voice travels across rooms and rooms. He really so suited for a life on the stage. “I’ll check in, see if he’s able to speak but I’m not sure, I make no promises. This has never happened before.”

The door squeaks open. Nice of Wonwoo to close it. His eyes are wide, stare unblinkingly when Jeonghan emerges, meeting him halfway. “Jeonghan. Are you…?”

The answer is no, Jeonghan is _not _fine. But the Ringmaster is behind him, his eyes painted with red and yellow eyeshadow, his rust-coloured hair laced with glitter, and he appears very interested. “Good to see you’re still alive. Would you mind coming with me? We have a meeting.”

Wonwoo’s gaze switches from Seokmin back to Jeonghan. Wonwoo, who knows better than anyone else, the extent of Jeonghan’s abilities has concern written in his face. That’s unnecessary. Jeonghan clenches his nails into the palm of his hand, lets it burn through the mark.

His shudders are obscured, and Wonwoo turns around. “Let’s go.”

They walk to the head office, barely thirty steps, but when Jeonghan flops down into the chair, it feels like he’s polished off every single reserve of energy he has. For an entity that has no need for breathing, he seems to be panting.

The interior design is simple: a massive desk towering with unread papers and sealed envelopes, behind which are two identical chairs. Soonyoung is already seated in one, a frown on his face and a purple lipstick imprint on his cheek. 

“Jeonghan, what happened?” There’s genuine concern in his voice. What betrays his disinterest is the silver balls in his palm. Every now and again, one disappears, and then, twirling through his fingers, reappears again. 

“It will not be repeated,” Jeonghan replies.

Truthfully, Jeonghan had not prepared himself for the consequences of his blunder. He had assumed a verbal tongue-lashing from Wonwoo, had entirely forgotten that they operate in an organization far bigger than they are, and that they are not happy with such a destructive end to their summer solstice event.

Seokmin seats himself next to Soonyoung, places his hat on the table. There’s a stray feather in his hair that Soonyoung is kind enough to brush aside. He beams in response. It’s such a beautiful expression on his kind face, that it’s all the more jarring when it all cracks when he turns to Jeonghan.

“There were about six hundred people in attendance, Jeonghan,” Seokmin says, not a trace of humour in his voice, “Six hundred people saw you fall from the top of the tent _through _to the entire foundation. The stage is beyond salvageable. Cracks were found in the very metal holding it up. The cost of the damages is far beyond what your performance brought in today, or even for the month.”

The silver ball in Soonyoung’s hand disappears again. How is he doing that?

“You can’t expect to _blame _him for the damages to some boards of fucking wood,” Wonwoo’s tone is thick with disbelief. “He broke multiple bones in his body. The fact that he’s still alive is…” and he shuts up then, unsure if he should really use the term ‘blessing’ in association with the manifestation of such a cardinal sin as an envy demon.

Seokmin doesn’t relent. He nods, “Yes, you’re absolutely right, let’s talk about the injuries to yourself, Jeonghan. You fell so hard and so fast, your blood _splattered_. It was like red dye exploded everywhere.” What a vivid picture he paints with words alone, no wonder he’s a Ringmaster. “The extent of emotional trauma inflicted on the audience is one I cannot begin to fathom. When we mention the intimate and dark tone of this night’s special act, it’s not meant to literally watch a man plummet to his doom.”

“Demon,” Soonyoung chirps. “He’s a demon.”

Seokmin links his fingers together. “That’s what Wonwoo claims he is, right?”

“Do you doubt me?” Wonwoo replies, his voice almost quiet. Jeonghan can feel his mark pulsate with energy, but for his own sake, he hopes Wonwoo restrains himself. Whatever fantastic display of demonic energy he imagines might just be the spark that burns Jeonghan out entirely.

“Would I not have reason to?” Their tones match each other in civility if not in tenor. “Your demon just cannonballed into our stage stage. I’d expect that kind of ineptitude from the most unremarkable of humans.” 

“Oh, he’s the real thing.” Soonyoung looks up from his practice, the silver balls relinquishing their hold on his attention. “I don’t doubt it for a moment.”

“Last I checked, this meeting wasn’t going to question the nature of my demonic contracts, and was rather focused on this supposed warning I’m going to recieve,” Wonwoo’s hands are clenched into fists. He’s still wearing his gloves from the show, leather and sparkly. They’re covered in blood. Even through the layer, from his right hand emits a faint lilac glow.

“If you want your warning so bad, I”ll give it to you,” Seokmin leans forward. “I don’t care if it was a mistake. Never have another. Your act demands a certain level of professionalism. I do not see any of that, not in the blood-streaked floorboards of the stage nor in your main act with ribs in half.” 

Jeonghan’s figured it out. Soonyoung rolls the balls down to his sleeve. That’s how he’s hiding it, that’s how he’s doing the trick. It’s quite clever actually.

“He’s not even paying attention!” Seokmin cries, gesturing to him. “Are you so fascinated by a simple magic trick?”

He feels a rough shove on his shoulder. Wonwoo grunts: “I’m trying to help _you _here. Can you not actively contribute to your own destruction?’

Foolish if he thinks he hasn’t already.

“I’m listening. I just don’t think there’s anything I can do at this point.”

“Apologizing would be a sufficient place to start,” Seokmin replies.

Soonyoung straightens up, intervening himself. “Well, first of all, you’re off the main stage. Not that this is surprising because _we don’t have one anymore_, but you’re stripped from the roster. You’ll assume your previous shows. You’ll make sure this never happens again. You’ll be flawless.”

Wonwoo’s teeth are grit together. “That’s reasonable.”

“But let me be clear,” Soonyoung leans in. He plucks a silver ball out of his sleeve, snaps his finger, and lets it disappear. “If this happens again, he’s gone. And you know I’d miss him dearly, that’s my favourite demon right there.”

ψ

Jeonghan predicts Wonwoo will enter the tent in the next minute. It’s not a question of psychic powers or demon ability: he’s merely memorized the speed of his footsteps, of the auditory signals of his boots against the gravel as he nears closer, the way that he always forgets that _rock_ is in the way and has to catch himself on his next step, disrupting his stride.

He had lingered behind when Jeonghan was permitted to leave, most likely to try and patch up any further wounds with their employers. For as unshakable as Wonwoo would have himself seem, his entire life is devoted to this circus. He has nowhere else to go, threatened to be as vulnerable as Jeonghan already is. Several seconds remain, and Jeonghan lets his hands travel down his shirt, inspecting his ribs. They’ve all reconnected now, but the bruising remains, purple blemishes all over his body. 

Right on schedule, right like he’s supposed to, Wonwoo steps through. Objectively, he’s in bad shape but Jeonghan is in no position to protest. Their show was in the night — it’s already early morning by now, and the sunlight casts a harsh illumination to Wonwoo’s bloodied and battered figure. Stage make-up still on, his eyes are dark as raven feathers, each carefully articulated feature poised to portray his distrust.

“Jeonghan,” Wonwoo says. He’s holding back a lot behind his clenched teeth. Once, this blazer was one of Wonwoo’s finest, a deep midnight black, carefully crafted with glitter. It’s plastered in a mixture of sweat, sawdust and Jeonghan’s blood. “Are you okay?”

He relaxes. In his head, he’d assumed this was going to be a far more unpleasant conversation. How thoughtful of Wonwoo to react not with valid questions and understandable rage but with passivity.

“Yes,” Jeonghan replies.

“Glad to fucking hear,” Wonwoo says, and strides forward. He thrashes out his hand, grips Jeonghan by the jaw, starts forcing him back. Fire burns in his eyes. And that’s more like it, that’s the _demon tamer _that Jeonghan knows, that’s the one Jeonghan has respect for. “Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”

“You composed yourself relatively well in front of the ringleaders,” Jeonghan manages to choke out, attempting to smile. Wonwoo’s grip tightens.

“Diplomacy is a good skill for humans to have. I imagine you demons resolve your problems by devouring each other whole, but sadly we have far less options available to us,” Wonwoo growls. “Fucking hell, Jeonghan, where do I even begin? You shouldn’t even be _able _to fall. Was it on purpose?”

“Of course not,” Jeonghan says, has the sense to look away, almost bashful. “I would never intentionally embarrass you like that. Or myself.”

This doesn’t appear to make Wonwoo any less angry. Most likely, the lack of sleep isn’t contributing either.

“Then explain yourself, explain why I have the blood of a fucking demon all over my damn gloves,” Wonwoo hisses. His gaze drops to his right hand, his face contorts with disgust. Once beautiful leather is coated in dried blood. He frowns, brings his hand up to his teeth and pulls the glove off off in one swift motion. Lets it drop to the floor, kicks it away. “Tell me why you’re in this condition?”

Wonwoo’s is so close. He can map out the exact way fury creeps into the curves and crevices of his face. 

“Joshua’s not human,” Jeonghan says. Wonwoo releases his grip instantly. 

“Fuck.” Wonwoo immediately steps back like if he tries hard enough he can leave the conversation entirely. Sensing the danger of Jeonghan’s realization, Wonwoo shuts the tent, switches on the lights instead, and winces. His eyes protest the sudden intrusion, and in the second it takes for him to compose himself, Jeonghan is aware of how absolutely _human _he looks. Ultimately subject to the physiological responses of his body, he may portray himself as the ‘demon tamer’ but the nature of the term points out his otherness. That he may force the entities to bend to his will, but he will never be one of them.

Joshua is not like that.

“How do you know?” Wonwoo asks. Jeonghan takes the initiative to sit down, crosses his legs on their armchair and Wonwoo nears towards him with trepidation. “Did he come after you? Does he want to capture you?”

“No.” The answer is instantaneous. “Why would he?”

“You’d be surprised how many people enjoy the idea of stealing someone else’s demon.” Experience coats his words. “Did he hurt you?”

Again, Jeonghan says: “No.” He had not been able to predict there would be so much concern for his wellbeing. He’s almost touched.

“Tell me, Jeonghan,” Wonwoo’s palms are open, his eyes wide with interest and concern.

Thinks of Joshua’s eyelashes, the way he smiled. Each touch felt like he was alive, each kiss ignited the life inside of him, and that’s what humans have always described what love is like, but _that cannot be so for a demon_.

“I’m fairly certain he’s an incubus,” Jeonghan says. “At least to a certain degree. Half-blood is my assumption.”

Wonwoo doesn’t let a flicker of emotion cross his face. “That’s a bold accusation.”

“Do you doubt my knowledge of demons?” A hint of disbelief coats Jeonghan’s tone.

“No more than I’d doubt my own,” Wonwoo replies. 

When it comes to talking to Wonwoo, it’s diplomacy among wolves. Jeonghan has no illusions about the cold exterior Wonwoo presents, knows that as untouchable as he seems, underneath beats a heart as black as cardinal sin. It was Wonwoo who said it himself, he killed his first demon when he was a child.

“What now then?” Wonwoo asks. “Incubi are a dying breed. If it’s attached itself to the circus we need to get rid of it. It’ll leach the life out of everything it can touch.”

“_No_,” Jeonghan says, before he can stop himself. “No, no it’s not like that at all. He’s not that… he’s not deadly. Not to me.”

Wonwoo’s silence is deafening. “What do you mean ‘_not to me_’? Are you suggesting that towards everyone else he poses a threat?”

Lying is supposed to come easy to a demon, it’s supposed to flow out of his lips like water — why now, does he stammer and struggle, unable to look into Wonwoo’s eyes and assure him that Joshua is harmless, promise him that he’s nothing to worry about, even if it’s all fake.

“He’s dangerous, isn’t he?” Wonwoo says, stands up. He casts an imposing figure. It’s something about his posture, the way he carries himself like he’s used to keeping his head up. “It’s a miracle no one else has found out yet, isn’t it?”

“I can handle him,” is all that comes out of Jeonghan’s mouth. “He can feed off of me. He’ll never be hungry, not with me, and I’ll never die.”

He sees it happen but knows even if he wanted to, he’d never be able to react fast enough, his muscles too slow. Wonwoo’s grip is tight around Jeonghan’s wrist and he pushes him into the wall of the tent, the supporting poles shaking from the motion.

“Have you looked at yourself recently, Jeonghan?” Wonwoo’s voice is rough, words like razors. “Have you seen the ruin you’ve become?”

“I can handle it,” Jeonghan replies, unable to let his gaze drift down to Wonwoo’s ungloved hands. His fingers are long, delicate, but there’s such strength in his grip. He could strangle Jeonghan, could leave him breathless and broken and send him back to Dis.

“You clearly can’t,” Wonwoo nails dig into his skin. “You’re a shell of what you’re capable of, and you know I can see this better than anyone. To _falter _in public, you must truly be an excuse of yourself.”

“I am strong enough to face you,” Jeonghan finds himself saying, a last desperate attempt to reclaim the ground he loses.

“I reach out to our connection and I feel that you are faint,” Wonwoo murmurs, raises Jeonghan’s hand to eye level. His eyes travel over the demon mark — and lets his nails dig into Jeonghan’s skin till it hurts, till the flesh bursts and crimson wells out. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything — but can’t stop his eyes clenching shut as he represses his scream.

“Go on. I know I’m hurting you. Stop me. You want to prove you’re in control so badly, do it. _Convince me_.” His grip tightens.

He could. Normally he could. Jeonghan shifts his gaze, unwilling to watch himself bleed any longer. “I’m not going to let him hurt anyone else. I can handle it. I’ll help.”

“Whether intentional or not, if that incubus touches anyone at this circus, we both will find ourselves in a situation neither of us is prepared to deal with,” Wonwoo’s teeth are grit together. “Do you understand the gravity of that? Do you know what the Church would do to both of us? Do you know that we’d die screaming?”

“You’d wish the same fate on Joshua.”

“I wish _nothing _on Joshua. I receive no joy from this reality check. My point remains that he’s a demon that is not controlled, and that, that is more dangerous than I think you realize. He could feast upon every soul in that amphitheatre and still be hungry, _that _is the nature of an incubus and your suggestion is to just let him loose?”

Jeonghan’s manufactured heart feels like it might break. “You can trust me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing that. You’re a demon.”

“You know what I'm capable of. I can help him,” Jeonghan insists.

Something akin to disbelief grows in Wonwoo’s eyes. “Jeonghan, have you forgotten your purpose here? It’s _me_. And if you betray me, I have no use for you.”

Their mark glows like a warning sign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have to give my IMMENSE thanks to hannah who has been absolutely incredible, this chapter literally would not exist if it wasn't for her 🥺 special mention also to aleesa for letting me ramble about this to her, and for her key insights on important questions of sexual tension.
> 
> writing this fic is QUITE the struggle but i do hope you enjoy.... pls let me know your thoughts in the comments!!! it really was only those that pushed me through to this chapter tbh

**Author's Note:**

> first and foremost: almay, this is for you. we've spoken about this universe for so long and a huge part of why i love it so much is because of how incredible it's been creating it with you. thank you for always inspiring me. i do hope you like this, and it's What Almay Wants™️. love you to the moon and back. 
> 
> beth, you have stopped me from trashing this doc like sixteen times, kept me going strong and was just instrumental at keeping me going and for that i'm incredibly grateful. riley literally gave me this SONG i love you!! hyb, senior demon, constant motivator, always leaves me amazed. kali, for her clever suggestion of the scene breaks, love you always! and as always, to my long-suffering beta shauna, i owe you so much, thank you for sprinkling your magic touch on this 💕
> 
> and finally, the SVT Jukebox Mods: you are literally the best people in the world, thank you so much for being so understanding and for running the best ficfest, I'm sending you all fruit baskets right now.
> 
> part two will be a while, i'm currently attempting to finish my thesis but it will go up! please do leave feedback, i'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> you can find me on:  
\- [twitter](https://twitter.com/minhyukwithagun/)  
\- [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/minhyukwithagun/)  
\- under your local drawbridge
> 
> thanks for reading 💕


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